To Serve and Protect
by PFCDontKnow
Summary: I thought I was done when I was shot in the chest. "Only in death does duty end" and all that. It seems, though, that duty is not done with me. The Fifth Blight is here, and I can't run. I know the future, things that can help end this. I'd never forgive myself I abandoned them now. God help me, I'm going to die. Again. (Here There Be Curse Words, Ye Have Been Warned.)
1. Chapter 1

**Normally, this is where I'd make some snarky self-deprecating comment about how this is just one more semi-self-insert to add to the already-ridiculous pile on the internet, but I can't think of anything.**

**Enjoy. Hopefully, this is worth reading.**

* * *

Death is the weirdest thing. It didn't hurt, surprisingly, and it took me a couple moments for me to realize the dark splotch slowly spreading across my shirt was blood. And for some godforsaken reason, as my vision faded to black, the only thing I could think of was some stupid line from a game:

_Only in death does duty end._

* * *

_Only in death does duty end. Have I done my duty, then?_

_I don't want to die._

_Only in death does duty end. Does that mean that duty ends at death, or that death comes when duty is fulfilled?_

_I don't want to die._

**_Only in death does duty end? Would you be Willing to take on My duty, if you would live once more?_**

_Yes._

**_Then My duty is yours._**

* * *

Knight-Lieutenant Landon was bored. He really didn't see why so many Templars were needed to guard the mages here at Ostagar. Senior Enchanter Wynne was here to keep them in line, after all. Especially since all they were really doing was keeping everyone else out of the Mage's Encampment. If he had to tell one more curious onlooker that "The mages must not be disturbed", he was going to smite something.

When his relief arrived, Landon didn't feel tired enough to return to his tent just yet. Instead, he wandered through the camp. He heard the Revered Mother holding a service for off-duty soldiers, the blacksmiths hard at work repairing arms and armor, a veteran sergeant giving others pointers on fighting the darkspawn. Eventually, his steps lead him to the edge of the ruins, overlooking the Korcari Wilds in its sprawling natural splendor.

He stared out over the forest, lost in his thoughts, for several minutes before he felt the familiar _pull_ that was indicative of someone pulling on the Fade to power a spell. It was coming from the Wilds, nearer to the army's camp, and it was _powerful_. Mapping out the location in his head, Landon raced back to the camp to grab as many Templars as could be spared.

The source of the spell turned out to be a very old, very run-down, but still large hut in the middle of a clearing. The energy was gone by the Templars arrived, but there was no doubt this was where it had come from. As they prepared to move in, a scream pierced the silent, tense air. The Templars wasted no more time, kicking through the door, weapons at the ready. The sight inside left them speechless, save for a breathless curse that fell from Landon's mouth. "Andraste, Bride of the Maker..."

Blood. The interior of the hut was practically _painted _in it, the red liquid dripping off the walls, splattered on the ceiling, and covering the floor, six or seven bodies scattered throughout in various states of dismemberment. And sitting in the middle of it was a young man, maybe 20 years of age, covered in blood, a disturbing feeling like that when an abomination was born suffusing the air around him that even now was fading away. The Knight-Lieutenant vaguely heard one of the younger Templars behind him retch.

Abruptly, the scream cut off, and the boy began to mutter to himself, his eyes still wide with fear, the last half-foot of a blood-stained sword clutched in his hands. Scanning the room, trying not to focus on the looks of shock and pain on the faces, Landon found the rest of it impaled through one of the apostate's chests, suspending the mage's body an inch off the floor. The Knight-Lieutenant slowly approached him, coming close enough to reach out and touch him.

"No no no sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I just didn't want to die I didn't want to die this isn't real this isn't real it can't be real this is a game a game a game it's fake not real it's not real it can't be real I want to go home wanna go home but can't go home not how this works never how this works stuck in the not-real with a warrior and a warden and a witch suffer not the witch to live suffer not the witch to live suffer not the witch to live."

The words spilled out of his mouth in an unrelenting torrent, his tone quiet and brittle, as if he was a breath away from snapping – which, from the looks of the hut, he already had once. Gently, Landon reached out and placed a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. Surprise flashed through the boy's eyes as he blindly swung at the Templar, a _pulse_ of energy racing out of him like an untrained smite. Neither the blow nor attempted smite harmed the Templar lieutenant, who knelt down in front of the young man, keeping a loose grip on his shoulders as he met his gaze evenly.

"You're safe now," Landon tried to get across, though it took him a couple tries before it seemed like the boy had even heard him, "The witch is dead. You're safe now."

A weak, disbelieving laugh was the boy's response. "Safe for _now_. Not for long. Everyone's gonna die. Three, four survive, and a dog. Blight is coming. Grey Knights, special chapter, secret chapter, six-sixty-sixth chapter not enough. Not enough, not your job."

"Grey Knights? Blight? Are you talking about the Grey Wardens?"

"Warden. Noun. A person responsible for the supervision of a particular place or activity or for enforcing the regulations associated with it. Champion. Noun. A person who has surpassed all rivals. A person who vigorously supports or defends a person or cause. Inquisitor. Noun. A person who makes an inquisition. A person who investigates in an official capacity. A member of the Inquisition."

"The boy's mad," the Knight-Lieutenant heard one of the Templars grumble. The boy turned a glare at the speaker.

"Is it madness to see the future? To see the destruction rushing towards us?" he shot back, his voice clearer, more solid. "No, I'm not mad! I'm the only sane one left!" It might have just been Landon's imagination, but that sounded almost like a quote, though from what he had no idea.

The sky was beginning to darken. They needed to get back to camp before the darkspawn caught them. Carefully, he pulled the weapon out of the boy's hands and then him to his feet. "Come on. Let's get you back to camp, let the healers take a look at you."

"It's not my blood," the boy insisted weakly, "Not my blood."

"I know." Landon kept his voice calm, soothing. The way he often calmed the youngest of the apprentices when he absolutely had to interfere. "But we just want to make sure, okay? Get the blood off you." And like those too-young apprentices, the boy let the Templar lead him gently back to the Mage's encampment and to Senior Enchanter Wynne, the other Templars grouped so as to keep the blood-soaked young man out of sight from the rest of the camp.

* * *

Solana says that writing my thoughts down will somehow help me get my shit together. I've never been big on writing about myself, I've never been that interesting before. The other worlds and stories in my head are much more entertaining.

But Solana's genuinely trying to help, and I need _something_ to do, I suppose. Can't exactly pull out my laptop and play Dragon Age to pass the time. (Dear God, wouldn't that be ironic...)

So. Here goes:

I'm supposed to be dead_._

I've told them this. No one believes me. Or at least they accept it really, really easy that I got better. Watching Wynne and a few of the other mages at work, I suppose I can see why. And Solana says Knight-Lieutenant Landon found me in what looked like the remains of a blood magic ritual. If I remember correctly, blood magic can boost a mage's power substantially. Usually at the cost of said mage's soul to learn it in the first place, though, and anything that costs souls is usually a bad deal, in my mind.

But what do I know, I'm just a Muggle. Who's supposed to be dead. And trapped in a fucking video game. (Shit. That's in ink. Note to Self: Don't let anyone else read this. Especially Solana.)

There has to be a reason behind this. I don't think I'll ever be able to go home - I _did _get shot, after all, I probably bled out all over the floor - but I'm not dead. And this definitely isn't a dream. Dreams don't have you doing nothing for long stretches of time.

...I might have stuck my hand in a fire, too. Just to make sure. Solana wasn't very happy with me.

She thinks I'm suffering from "phantasmal delusions as a result of overexposure to illusory elements of the Fade via a severe weakening in the fabric of the Veil in conjunction with severe emotional stress at the time of exposure."

I never thought magic could sound so boring. Solana lobbed a fireball at me when I said that out loud. Apparently, she has a temper. I'd say the red hair should've given it away, but I try not to stereotype.

God, I'm rambling. Can you ramble on paper? I guess it's better than rambling out loud. Solana _and_ Knight-Lieutenant Landon both said I did a lot of that when they found me.

Stop. Stop. I'm not making sense. Incoherence won't do me any good. But how? Where do I start?

The beginning, duh. Start from what I first remember. Work my way out from there.

Oh, and I finally asked for the date.

It's 18 August, 9:30 Dragon.

* * *

I woke up on a rough cot in some kind of tent, and at first, I couldn't muster the energy to do anything. Getting up was too hard, looking around was too hard, hell, thinking was too hard. So, I just kind of lay there and stared at the tent roof, waiting for something to happen. The inside of the tent lightened a bit as a flap was opened.

"Oh, _shit!_" someone hissed and suddenly, my view of the tent roof was interrupted by red hair as whoever had entered the tent was suddenly checking my pulse, my breathing before they sighed in relief, and I found brilliantly violet eyes glaring at me accusingly.

"Bastard," she muttered in what I, as a dumb American, would only ever be able to identify as a blanketly 'British' accent, "You almost gave me a heart attack. Thought you'd gone and died on me."

"Sorry," I replied. Or, well, I tried to. My mouth moved, but no sound came out. Too much effort. The woman smiled at that as she pulled up some kind of stool and sat down next to me.

"Still recovering, then," she said, "But, you're awake now, that's progress. Knight-Lieutenant Landon brought you in three days ago. Do you remember what happened?"

I frowned at her. The only place I'd ever heard the term 'Knight-Lieutenant' used as a title was in Dragon Age...And then I finally noticed what my visitor was wearing: loose blue-and-gold _robes. _I knew I should've been feeling something, but that would've taken effort to even figure out what I was supposed to be feeling.

I licked my lips and opened my mouth to speak. "I...died?" My voice was unsure, barely audible.

"If you did, it was before the Knight-Lieutenant found you," the mage stated with a shrug, "Physically, you were perfectly fine when he brought you in, though I suppose that might explain the scarring on your chest and back. Blood magic is not something apostates generally use for life-_giving_. Or healing."

My lips twitched in what might have been amusement even as I fought to stay awake. The mage noticed, because she stood up and collected something off a trunk I hadn't noticed at the end of the cot, saying something my brain refused to register as consciousness slipped away from me.

The next time I woke up, I felt much more alive. The first thing I did, in fact, was sit up and check out the scarring I remember the red-headed mage said I had. There's a circle of scar tissue about the size of a quarter in the center of my chest, and with some twisting, I could feel a mess of scar tissue spider-webbed across my back, though I'm not sure exactly how bad it looks.

Gunshot exit wounds tend to be larger than entry wounds. I was shot in the chest. The scar on my chest is circular, smaller than the one on my back.

"So I _did _die." My voice sounded a little scratchy, but it was clear enough. I seemed to have recovered from...well, death...fairly well.

"You sound like a Dwarf." My head snapped up to see the same mage from before.

I blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Your accent," she elaborated, walking over and sitting on the edge of the cot, "It sounds like a Dwarf's. Were you raised in Orzammar?" She frowned as something seemed to occur to her. "Wait, would Dwarves even raise a human?"

I just blinked again. "I...don't know? I've never really thought about it. Don't know many Dwarves, though, sorry."

She seemed to slump, just a little. "Well, shit. How much _do _you remember?"

"I got shot," I blurted thoughtlessly.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "But...what kind of arrow would leave a wound like this?" She poked the vaguely star-shaped circle on my chest, and suddenly I could feel the _thrum_ of unnatural energy pulsing through her like a second heartbeat.

The sensation caught me off-guard and I spoke without thinking. "It wasn't. An arrow, I mean."

"Well, it wasn't magic."

_Shit. Damage control. _I hesitated. Gunpowder was a Qunari secret, wasn't it? "I...Some kind of alchemy, maybe?" Technically true, if you squint hard enough.

The mage thought about that. "Maybe. Alchemy was never my strong suit. I'm lucky if a health poultice turns out right."

I smiled at that. "I think I'd like to get up now."

With some effort - and a little help from the mage, whose name I still needed to learn - I was up and mobile inside of a couple minutes. "Oh, Andraste's ass. I was supposed to ask you your name," she grumbled as she helped me to my feet.

"Garrett Werdin," I answered openly. "That happen often?"

"More than I like." She handed me a tunic sitting on top of a nearby chest. "I'm Solana. Solana Amell."

Thankfully, I was in the middle of pulling the tunic on, so I was able to hide my surprise. _Shit. This is one of the Warden-candidates. _That didn't surprise me as much as it probably should have. _Am I at the Tower? _"Where are we?"

"Ostagar," she answered, "On the edge of the Korcari Wilds." I wasn't able to hide my surprise at that, and she grinned. "Where did you think you were?"

"Not there."

Solana snickered as she pulled back the tent flap. "Yeah, I don't want to be here, either. But the Blight's got everyone running around like headless chickens. Can chickens really do that?"

It took me a second before I remembered that she was raised in the Circle. She's _beyond _sheltered. "Not for long, but yes. Somewhat."

She looked like she was about to start in on another question when realization flashed in her eyes and she cursed under her breath. "Wynne and Knight-Lieutenant Landon will want to know you're awake," she explained, pointing me to a nearby fire, "Have a seat, I'll go let them know." My stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. She smirked at my appropriately annoyed expression at the rebellious organ. "And maybe find you something to eat."

_What am I going to do? _I questioned as I made my way over and sat next to the fire while Solana walked off. _I'm at Ostagar, in Ferelden, on Thedas, in Dragon Age. _The thought inspired...nothing. No surprise, no denial, no worry, nothing. _What am I expecting? Why am I expecting something? _I knew in my mind that I should probably be a broken wreck, transitioning from one reality to another, but I couldn't seem to summon any kind of emotional response beyond weary acceptance. _Maybe I already had my mental breakdown?_

"_Maker's blood, Garrett!_"

I didn't even realize I'd had my hand in the fire until Solana was shouting at me and yanking my arm back. At that point, my nerves finally seemed to register the flames licking at my skin.

"AH! Son of a_ bitch!_" _I g__uess not._

Her impossibly violet eyes were filled with worried anger as she thwacked me across the back of the head. "You idiot! Were you even _thinking_?"

"Solana..." The younger mage had the grace to look a little chagrined at the disapproving looks the older couple that had apparently followed her gave us. The lady swooped in and grabbed my burnt hand with a disappointed look directed at me.

Solana cleared her throat and straightened. "Garrett, this is Senior Enchanter Wynne-" she gestured to the older lady pouring the _energy_ thrumming through her into my hand in a cooling wave, "-and Knight-Lieutenant Landon." She gestured to the gentleman in heavy armor frowning disapprovingly at Solana, but more in the manner of a frustrated parent than anything. "Wynne is the senior mage in charge at the moment, and Landon's not so bad, for a Templar."

"Thank you, girl," said Templar replied, sarcasm dripping off of his every word, "for such a glowing recommendation."

Solana looked like she wanted to respond, but held her tongue. Wynne finished healing my hand and stood up with a sigh.

"I'm afraid that's the best I can do," she said, gesturing at my still-scarred hand. It wasn't too bad, but definitely noticeable, "You, young man, have a surprisingly high resistance to magic."

Wynne looked tired, Solana looked excited, and the Templar looked...almost smug. I just felt lost. "...What?"


	2. Chapter 2

**25 August, 9:30 Dragon**

Dear God in Heaven, what was I thinking?

Trick question. I know exactly what I was thinking, and I still believe I'm doing the right thing, but right now, my body vehemently disagrees with me.

Knight-Lieutenant Landon is _brutal_. This is the first time in I don't know how many days that I've had the will or the energy to write anything. Looking at the date, though, I guess it's been a week. Jesus...

I still haven't been able to summon up any sort of reaction to my...situation, I guess I'll call it. I'd be more worried that I might not _have _emotions anymore if it weren't for the fact that I'd gotten _worried_ about it for a minute. I've read about that happening, and I've seen Tranquil (and I don't just mean in-game anymore). It's fucking real, and it's not-so-slightly disturbing.

There's probably a whole treatise in there somewhere on what makes us human and how emotion is connected to that, but I'm not in the mood to try and figure it out. Tranquil have no emotions, and it's creepy as fuck.

In regards to my situation, though, the only real response I've been able to come up with is an...acceptance, I guess. I...I feel like I owe these people. That I'm _obligated_ to use my knowledge to help them. That I have a duty.

There we go, that's the word I'm looking for: I have a _duty_ to the people of Ferelden to use what I know to aid them through the Blight. To do nothing with my knowledge would be anathema to me. I'm not sure where exactly this certainty is coming from, but I can almost literally feel it in every part of my being, as corny as that sounds.

I haven't told anyone about this, but I did tell Solana and the Knight-Lieutenant that I wanted to help. The Knight-Lieutenant looked particularly pleased when I said that, and Solana just smiled. KL Landon went off to speak to some of the senior Templars, and Solana took me to see Wynne for a physical.

That's how I found myself waking up before the sun rose, getting beat within an inch of my life until lunch, listening to KL Landon explain the history behind the Chantry and giving me sections of the Chant of Light to memorize, and then more wailing away with the heavier-than-an-actual-one training sword and shield until I collapse with exhaustion. And all in heavy armor, which I'm only allowed to take off long enough to clean and to sleep, in that order. It is fucking _heavy_.

The generous Knight-Lieutenant is going to take full advantage of my absurdly high magic resistance, it seems. They're turning me into a Templar. Seriously, got the T-shirt and everything. (not actually a T-shirt, but you get the idea. Not that I've ever worn said tunic, forever clomping around in armor.)

Solana, to my surprise, actually thinks this is a good idea. I thought she'd hate it, being a mage and all, but she just waved me off.

"You're smart," she said, "I know you won't go all fanatical-nutcase on me."

I just stared at her for a minute while my tired brain processed what she'd said. "How?"

"I just do," she replied with a smirk. After a couple seconds, it faded into more of a regular smile, and she gave me an _actual_ answer, "Because I trust you."

Well, if one of the potential Warden-candidates (not that she will be one at this point, already an Enchanter _and _at Ostagar) says she _trusts_ me, I suppose I'd better prove I deserve it, eh?

* * *

"Blessed are they who stand before  
the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter."

Knight-Lieutenant Landon listened carefully as the young man before him recited the Canticle of Benedictions to him as they ate, looking for a single misplaced word. While rote, verbatim memorization might not have been required, Landon was a believer in aiming high when it came to training recruits.

And Garrett Veirdin was quite possibly the best recruit the Knight-Lieutenant had ever seen. The boy pushed himself harder than he'd seen half the recruits he'd trained do, and he'd yet to hear him voice a complaint about anything Landon was putting him through – when he thought the Templar could hear him. He cursed quite voraciously when he was alone or with Enchanter Amell, sometimes slipping into a relatively guttural-sounding tongue that sounded surprisingly similar to the King's Tongue at points.

"Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.  
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadows.  
In their blood the Maker's will is written."

Speaking of the red-headed Enchanter, Landon made a note to speak with the boy about his friendship with the mage. He had nothing against it, Maker knew _he_ wasn't exactly innocent of collusion with mages, but the boy should be aware that their (apparently shared) opinion was in the minority, and generally frowned upon.

The boy stopped to take a bite, trying to hide his mumbling with a mouthful of food.

"What was that?" Landon asked with a knowing smirk. That had _almost_ sounded like the next verse in Benedictions, but it wasn't, and they both knew it. Garrett paused for a minute, obviously debating the benefits and downsides of lying before sighing in defeat.

"...Blessed is the mind too small for doubt," he said in an undertone, but still discernible. The Knight-Lieutenant gave a soundless snort of amusement. The boy had sounded almost mockingly sarcastic when he said that.

"Don't let the Revered Mother hear you say that," Landon warned, amused, "It sounds almost like your accusing the Chantry of indoctrination."

"Heaven forbid, sir." Garrett's voice was flatter than table at which they sat. "Ruthlessly quashing any and all questioning is only the proper way to disseminate the truth, after all."

The Templar Knight-Lieutenant felt his expression harden. "Mind your tongue, boy. The Chantry only does what it must to keep order."

Garrett's jaw clenched and after a moment he bowed his head in reluctant submission. "Yes, sir."

The two ate silently for several moments before the boy resumed reciting the Canticle of Benedictions, an unspoken agreement to avoid unnecessary discussion of the Chantry's methods between them. Landon rather enjoyed the young man's presence too much to let their differences get in the way.

* * *

Solana Amell was more than a little intrigued by the Knight-Lieutenant's newest recruit.

When the Templars had first brought the young man covered in blood and without a stich of clothing beyond the cloak they'd draped over him to the Senior Enchanter, she'd been curious. Who wouldn't have been? When Wynne asked the newly-Harrowed Enchanter to watch him while she tended to other things, she hadn't been all that upset. And when after half an hour of peace and quiet in which nothing happened, she had to leap from her seat and pin his arms to the cot while he thrashed in his sleep to keep him from trying to claw his face off while crying in what wasn't any language _she_ knew, she knew she was done for.

Solana had a bit of a reputation at Kinloch Hold as someone who couldn't leave something alone if it wasn't working correctly, from broken items to the little birds that sometimes ended up in the Tower's greenhouse to sick apprentices. Everything, even people, was built to function a certain way, and when they weren't functioning, there was a way to fix it.

The boy was broken inside, his mind still suffering from whatever depraved ritual he'd been subjected to. And Wynne knew perfectly well that Solana wouldn't have been able to let it go after learning that.

_Wynne, you manipulative old bitch..._but the thought had no real rancor to it. It was a _challenge_, and Solana accepted it gladly.

She started recording everything she noted about his...Fade terrors, for lack of a better word, and read everything she could get her hands on that might have been at all related. She almost – _almost_ – wished she was back at the Tower, if only to peruse the library.

His rather violent nighttime attacks began to peter off after he regained consciousness, and tapered off even faster after he seriously started to train, but she stuck around him, checking up on his mental health. And apparently his spelling.

"'Armour' is spelled with a 'u'."

"Not the way _I _spell it."

"Well, then, you're spelling it wrong."

"No I'm not. You knew it was the word 'armor' without the 'u', so I don't see why it's so important. Therefore, I didn't include it. Same goes for color. Or humor. Or mold."

The red-headed mage suppressed a sigh, and was only partially successful, judging by the way Garrett snickered. Somewhat to her surprise, the two of them had become fast friends, discussing everything he learned from the Knight-Lieutenant, debating minor things like his spelling as if it were a serious issue, and just chatting about whatever things came to mind. Idly, she wondered if this is what it was like to have a brother.

* * *

**14 Whatever-Month (Sol says it's Kingsway. Stupid name for a month)**

My birthday's tomorrow. I'm turning 21. I'll be old enough to legally drink, back home...

Well, _technically_, it's in two days, but all the months here only have 30 days, so it's easier to just use tomorrow than try to constantly match up the Gregorian calendar to the Thedosian one, considering it has five less days. My birthday would never be the same twice. What a nightmare. Math. Eww.

Is that even the right word? Thedosian?

Sol says it is. After giving me a look that pretty much screams "I'm going to try and filch your journal to see what wrong with your head now". You'll never get it, my precious! Yes, precious, never! Cue evil laughter.

...I have problems.

I'm still wound up from the battle yesterday. Oh my god. Fucking...just...fuck. The most advanced graphics engine and video card and whatever else goes into rendering video game graphics in the _world_ wouldn't be able to capture the unnaturalness and creepiness and all-around disgusting evil _wrongness_ of the darkspawn. I can't describe it any other way. They definitely deserve to be put down.

But holy shit, that was still fucking scary. I managed to make it through without shitting myself, though it was definitely a close thing. The sword and shield felt light in my hands, which I know was the whole point in training with heavier wooden versions, but I don't like how much the helmet restricts my vision. I couldn't help feeling very _alone_ out there, unable to see the others around me, even though I knew that was bullshit.

That, I think, scared me more than the darkspawn. Because once they got within stabbing range, I ceased to notice them anymore. As something to be afraid of, I mean. They died when I stabbed them. I can't stab a sense of isolation, though, however much I wish I could.

Which is frankly hilarious, given I ran off after asking Sol if 'Thedosian' was a word, and am currently hiding out by the Tower of Ishal. Here I am, freaking out about being alone on the battlefield, and I'm hiding from everyone.

KL Landon says there's supposed to be another battle either tonight or tomorrow. He's refusing to let me participate in this one, though. He won't tell me why.

I feel better now, having gotten all this down. Calmer. Maybe Solana has a point. I'll have to start writing in here more. It's been like, three weeks since I last wrote in here. Yeesh.

Speak of the Devil and (s)he shall appear. I can hear Solana looking for me.

I'd better wrap this up. I can barely see the paper, it's gotten so dark.

Ah, shit, I think it's starting to rain.

* * *

**Questions? Comments? Bitches, moans, complaints? Leave a review if you got 'em.**


	3. Chapter 3

**17 Kingsway**

The Battle of Ostagar happened three days ago.

I should've seen it coming. I _knew_ it was coming. Why didn't I do anything? I should've done _something_.

_Why didn't I do anything?_

Solana says we did the best we could. That it's not our fault.

Is she telling _me_ that, or trying to convince herself? Either way, I'm not sure if I believe her.

The Warden is still out of it. Morrigan is tending to her. Sol is hovering, trying to learn everything. Alistair is up and pacing already. Flemeth is...being Flemeth. The dog keeps nudging my hand. I think he wants me to pet him.

I feel a little better now. I like that dog. I want a mabari now…

I guess I should write down what happened. Get it off my chest. Distance myself from what happened. Or something. I've got nothing else to do 'til the Warden wakes up.

Here we go.

* * *

The Events of the Fourteenth Day of Kingsway, in the Year of Our Lady Andraste 9:30 Dragon Age, as set forth by Garrett Werdin the Undying. (…I like that epithet. I think I'll keep it.)

* * *

Solana found me in front of the Tower of Ishal not too long after I finished my last entry. She punched me in the shoulder and I rubbed the spot with a hurt look on my face. Sol just rolled her eyes at my play-acting, and started to chew me out.

"Where the hell have you been?" she scolded, "You've been really quiet since the battle. The first time we speak in almost two days, and you ask me what month it is, and if 'Thedosian' is a word. What's wrong?"

I ran a hand through my hair – which I'm going to need to get cut soon, it's starting to bugging me – and sighed. "I'm f-"

"I swear to the Maker, if you say you're fine, I will roast you in your skin, absurd magic resistance be damned."

I smiled weakly at the knowing glare/smirk she was giving me and submitted. "I guess I'm still a bit wound up. Restless. Something feels...off."

Sol's face softened a little and she looked like she was about to say something when the doors to the Tower crashed opened and darkspawn poured out of the entrance. I was abruptly made _extremely _aware that I wasn't wearing any armor, and I spent several moments silently cursing my luck while Sol was having fun introducing darkspawn to the dubious pleasure of third- and fourth-degree burns.

A hurlock rushed me, and I dropped to the ground to dodge the swing. His next strike I rolled away from, and I finally remembered I had my sword as I scrambled to my feet. I drew it while backpedaling away from the advancing hurlock, and tripped. he thrust forward, and I barely managed to deflect it up where it got caught in a crate. I jumped at the chance and thrust my sword into the hurlock's face. I pulled a wooden shield off the arm of a dead soldier and carefully joined the fight.

I don't remember much of the fighting for a while. The shield must've been a cheap one, just planks held together with glue and a leather rim, and the straps nailed in, because it started splintering and breaking fairly quickly under the darkspawn's blows. That I can remember clearly, because right as I was starting to worry that the shield was about done for, an older soldier grabbed my arm and yelled over the din.

"Boy! Get back to the bridge! Block it off! We can't have them getting to the camp!"

I nodded and turned towards the ramp that lead down to the bridge, and then the camp. A flash of blue-and-gold caught the corner of my eye.

"Sol!"

She nodded as I pointed my sword towards the bridge, and we blasted our way out of the courtyard. Somewhat literally, though my shield was finally obliterated by a darkspawn with a hammer to the already-pretty-wrecked planks. I tossed that aside as we ran down the ramp.

We made it out in one piece and had all of three seconds to catch our breath before two humanoid figures and one canine appeared through the rain. I recognized Alistair after a half-second of hesitation, and I had no time to identify his partner.

"You!" I called out, relieved, "You're Grey Wardens, aren't you?" I didn't bother to wait for confirmation. "The Tower, it's been taken!"

Alistair looked incensed at that. "What are you talking about, man? Taken how?"

I took a second to realize _holy shit, I just turned into an NPC_, before I gestured behind us. "The darkspawn must've come up through the lower chambers, they're everywhere! Most of the men are dead!"

"Then we have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves!"

The _certainty_ in Alistair's voice filled me with a confidence I hadn't realized I was needing. I readjusted my grip on my sword and prepared to charge back into the courtyard when a chainmail-clad hand grabbed my arm and thrust a metal kite shield at me.

"I want that back later!" a female voice called out as she bolted after the ex-Templar.

I didn't have time to check it out before strapping it on and diving back into the fray.

I became lost in the flow of the battle, and it wasn't until I saw the Warden relieving a hurlock of its head with an older-looking sword, a dagger lodged in its gut to keep it still, that I noticed it finally dying down. The relative silence around us revealed all the darkspawn were taken of, for the moment.

I took advantage of the pause to observe her. She was pretty, her dark brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail, two locks escaping to frame her face. She wore a set of well-made chainmail, and looked comfortable in it, like it was a second skin. Round ears, so she was a human (Not that I have anything against elves).

_So, Cousland? _I took a second to glance down at the heraldry on the shield. A green laurel wreath edged in blue, the silvery metal of the shield acting as the field. _Cousland_.

I looked back up with a small smile, and gave her a short bow. "An excellent kill," I complimented, "Fortune favors your blade."

She just stared at me for a moment with eyes of dull silver. "Not fortune," she replied tiredly, "skill."

I couldn't help it. The more I tried to suppress it, the harder it got, until I eventually broke down, gasping for breath between fits of laughter. Unintentional as it was on her part, the Assassin's Creed reference shouldn't have been _that_ funny. The Warden herself looked like she was torn between smacking me over the head or joining me in laughing, when Alistair joined us, a very pale and wide-eyed Solana in hand.

"Is he always like this?" the Warden asked drolly, gesturing to my rapidly recovering form.

"Depends," Sol replied quietly with a wan smile, "Is it Wednesday?"

The Warden gave her a small smile before her face grew serious once more. "Let's move," she ordered, "We need to get that beacon lit."

Sol cut me off with a hand held in the universal gesture for 'stop' before I could even open my mouth. "I'm fine, Garrett. I just didn't expect darkspawn to be so..." The look on her face spoke volumes neither of us could really express in words.

I simply nodded in understanding, and we ran to catch up to the Wardens, who were already entering the tower.

The first floor of the tower consisted of one very large room that had been partially barricaded off to funnel enemies from the entrance towards one specific spot. The "enemies", in this specific scenario, happened to be us. Although, it was a pretty sad excuse for a barricade, I could jump it easily. So I did. Only, I forgot the darkspawn would set the barricade on fire as we entered, and it turned into a race to see if I could clear the barricade before I caught fire. I almost lost. The _Oh, Shit _look on the hurlock's face as I came down shoving a sword through its collarbone was totally worth it, though.

My much less mentally challenged and by extension more sensible companions went around the fires and engaged the remaining darkspawn. A genlock emissary died messily when he got...well, dogpiled, by the dog, and Alistair took a couple of arrows to his shield carving up a hurlock before the offending archer found his next arrow sticking out of his face, courtesy of the Warden.

Sol immolated the last one, which had been trying to introduce me to the sharp end of its sword. The look on her face as she made her way over to me, though, made me reconsider my aversion to making friends with pointy objects for all of half a second.

"Garrett, you _idiot_," she all but snarled as she full-on punched me in the shoulder, "That was quite possibly the single-most _stupid _thing you've done to date! What were you _thinking_?!"

I rolled my shoulder with a wince – for a mage, Sol had quite the punch. "Honestly, I wasn't..."

"What, thinking?"

"...Expecting them to set it on fire," I finished lamely. Sol just stared at me for a second with this exasperated look that made it clear my reply only proved her point before she snatched my sword arm and started healing a shallow cut on my forearm I hadn't noticed until now.

After Sol finished healing my arm and took a moment to catch her breath, the four (five, almost forgot the dog) of us pushed on, slaying more darkspawn and looting everything that wasn't nailed down. (Apparently that's actually a thing she does. Al said he has no idea why, the one time I've gotten him to talk since he woke up.)

"Maker's breath! What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde?" The question exploded out of Alistair as we took a breather at the top of the stairs leading to the second floor. "There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

"You could try telling them they're in the wrong place," I suggested with a smirk.

"Right, because clearly this is all just a misunderstanding," the senior Warden remarked sardonically, "We'll laugh about this later."

"Make it a short talk, then," the Warden interjected, "We need to light the beacon. Loghain will be waiting for the signal."

I didn't say anything and kept my face blank in a sort of nonverbal "No Comment" that got me an interesting look from the Warden. A tiny part of me was hoping we'd actually be able to get there in time to convince Loghain the battle was winnable, but I couldn't really bring myself to believe it.

The fight to clear the second floor went much the same as it had for the first floor and the courtyard, except instead of having Sol drop a fireball down a hole in the floor the darkspawn probably came up through, or getting my shield turned into kindling, I got to pin a hurlock to the wall with a ballista bolt. That was fun. Impractical as it would've been on multiple levels, I wish we could've taken it with us to the top of the tower. It would've been useful against the ogre. We took everything else, it seemed like.

On the third floor, we found some mabari hounds still in their kennels. I have no idea _why_, but they were. It's a question I've asked myself before, when this whole world was nothing more than an escapist fantasy, but at the moment, it wasn't really important enough to try and figure out. I was a bit preoccupied killing darkspawn. Watching them all charge down the hall baying for blood was very slightly epic to watch, though. I can see why Fereldens love them so much.

We charged up the stairs to light the fire, and found the ogre right where it was supposed to be. We all stopped and stared at just how utterly _massive_ it was before it noticed us, and turned with a roar.

"I think I need a bigger sword," I managed to get out before the ogre charged us, head down like a bull. We all leapt out of the way, and ended up split, Sol and I on one side, Al and the Warden on the other.

We killed the ogre. I'd elaborate more on how, but I don't really remember, just that there was a lot of ducking and stabbing and swinging (and fireball-throwing, on Sol's part). It finally ended, though, when I managed to get behind it and take a swing at the back of its knee, right as Al jumped at it and smashed into its chest, sending it staggering over backwards as he stabbed it in the face.

The Warden raced immediately over to the signal fire and tried to light it while the rest of us caught our breath, but Sol joined her after a couple of seconds and lit it up with magic. Al's shield was looking a lot like my first one had, so he was pretty happy when the Warden handed him a virtually identical shield she found...somewhere in the tower, though there wasn't any kind of charge on it. I handed her back her family shield (not that I'd been told that bit yet by her), and that's when all hell broke loose. Darkspawn seemed to just pour up the stairs and I don't even remember how I ended up unconscious, just that it hurt like a bitch, and I'm pretty sure I saw a dragon.

I had these two really wierd dreams before I woke up. In one, there was a young man with long blond hair, in armor that shone like gold, and he looked absolutely lost, confused. The second one was much the same, only it was an older gentleman with black hair, in strange silver armor, with red-and-white robe-like clothing underneath. And he just looked...devastated, like he'd failed at some important task. I spoke with them, in both dreams, though I don't remember what we talked about, and then I lead them...somewhere. I can't remember now. But they seemed...not _happy_ to see it, but...content, I suppose. Like they were finally home. I remember they both thanked me.

And then I woke up to find Flemeth leaning over me with this knowing little smirk-smile on her face. As any debatably-sane person would in such a scenario, I flinched.

"You, young man," she said reprovingly, "are not supposed to be awake yet."

"I can go back to sleep, if it'll help," I replied. _Oh, brilliant, Garrett, let's get snarky with the Witch of the Wilds._

Flemeth just laughed. "Oh, it's too late for that now," she stated, "You've already come this far. Besides, you have a responsibility, it wouldn't do to shirk that. Your mother wouldn't be happy with you."

"No, I suppose she wouldn't," I answered carefully. She just smiled at that and left me alone after pointing out where my clothes were.

The more I think about it, the more I feel like I missed some really important shit in that conversation, and it's making me a bit paranoid.

* * *

**Look at that, a journal entry that takes up the whole chapter. That's a first.**

**Anybody got any idea what Flemeth's going on about? What do y'all think?  
**


End file.
